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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500484">love knows only broken ends</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenanigans1207/pseuds/Jenanigans1207'>Jenanigans1207</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent, Crowley Has Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, The Bandstand Scene, The pub scene, aziraphale takes his sweet time like usual, brokenhearted crowley, but it gets happy in the end, it hurts for awhile, the bookshop scene, the switcheroo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:21:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenanigans1207/pseuds/Jenanigans1207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry for all of it, okay, angel? For twisting your arm into our arrangement, for putting you in a position you so clearly hated for six-thousand years.” It’s petty. He knows it’s petty but the words burn the back of his throat and he knows he won’t be able to keep them in. Every time he looks at Aziraphale’s purposefully hard expression, he loses a little more control. He’s supposed to be able to fix this, it’s his job to fix this, but he can’t because Aziraphale is being the infuriatingly stubborn and well-intentioned angel he is and Crowley suddenly has run out of time to say everything he’s been holding close to his heart for six-thousand years. “I’m sorry for the whole lot of it, alright? I’m even sorry for falling in love with you.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>The bandstand scene, but Crowley confesses. And all of the subsequent major scenes and how they've changed because of that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>My faves - Good Omens Whump, comfort fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>love knows only broken ends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I was walking my dog yesterday and I got an idea that was just "The bandstand scene, but Crowley confesses". I made it a twitter thread (which was a slightly less flushed out version of the first scene) and was immediately told that I needed to redeem myself for the pain that I had caused. SO. I turned it into a fic with a happy ending. But be warned, it hurts a lot before you get to the end. It's mostly just brokenhearted Crowley until it isn't.</p>
<p>Side note, all of the canon lines that I included in here, I did from memory. I tried watching it while I was writing but I kept getting distracted and finding myself grinning at the TV instead of typing, so I had to stop that. So if the lines are a bit off, that's my bad. I just wrote them as I remember them. But hey, it's canon divergent anyways, so I figure it's fine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a bad day. </p>
<p>There had been rather a few bad days in recent memory, but this was definitely amongst the worst. As far as Crowley knew, the world was ending in a matter of hours and the only other soul on this godforsaken planet he cared about was standing opposite him, literally and figuratively, frowning. </p>
<p>“We’re on our side!” Crowley emphasizes, because it’s the only truth he’s been able to cling onto for the last six-thousand years. It’s the only truth that has gotten him through all of the other bad days of his life. It’s the only truth he actually believes in.</p>
<p>Crowley had given up on God the day she had cast him out and in the last six-thousand years she had proven time and time again that she wasn’t here for him. But Aziraphale? Aziraphale had always been there for Crowley, showing up when he was in a pinch, lying through his teeth to maintain Crowley’s reputation. He’d heard all of the misinformation Crowley had been feeding hell and done nothing more than huff out a laugh and turn away. Aziraphale, through it all, despite it all, had been the one constant thing in Crowley’s life— the one thing he bothered to put any amount of faith in at all.</p>
<p>(And he put all of his faith in Aziraphale because Aziraphale had earned it, and then continued to earn it again and again and again.)</p>
<p>Aziraphale is hurting. Crowley can see it in his eyes, in the tremble of his lip. He’s been studying Aziraphale for six-thousand years, he can read him like any, or all, of the books in Aziraphale’s shops. For a brief moment, Crowley expects Aziraphale to collapse, but he holds his voice steady and pitches it loudly as he exclaims, “There is no our side, Crowley! Not anymore. It’s over.”</p>
<p>And suddenly everything that had already been making today a bad day didn’t matter. The end of the world didn’t matter because this right here was the end of <em>Crowley’s</em> world; the end of everything that had ever mattered to him, the end of the only thing he’d ever been fighting for. For a split second, a fleeting moment, Crowley thought that the end of the world would be preferable— at least then he wouldn’t have to live every day apart from Aziraphale by choice.</p>
<p> (Aziraphale’s choice, but a choice between them all the same).</p>
<p>“Right.” He says stiffly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Right.” </p>
<p>For a bit now, he’d been feeling the edges of a pounding headache as it crept up on him, its teeth clinging to his temples and gnawing at him. It seemed reasonable: the end of the world was a bit of a headache, after all.</p>
<p>But suddenly he feels the edge of something else creeping up on him and it feels like something in his chest is being chipped away at, like something deep inside of him is being battered and bruised. He glances at Aziraphale— wobbly-lipped, teary-eyed, beautiful Aziraphale— and he swears for a moment he can see a chisel in Aziraphale’s hands. The same one he’s using to break Crowley’s heart into bits. Because that’s what this is, this feeling. It’s heartbreak. </p>
<p>It’s the kind of heartbreak that Crowley doesn’t think he’ll be able to shake. The kind of heartbreak that he’ll carry as another chip on his shoulder— where he’ll get room for that, he hardly knows, lord knows he has enough chips to bear already— displayed for everyone to see. If it all really does go pear shaped, as it’s certainly poised to, he’ll be displaying it for all of hell to see for the rest of eternity.</p>
<p>Well, he supposes bitterly, it seems fitting. Hell being eternal torture and all that.</p>
<p>“Right.” Crowley says for the third time as if that somehow will make things better. It doesn’t.</p>
<p>They stare at each other, Aziraphale’s words heavy in the space between them. And suddenly, Crowley is hit with the reality of this moment, with the fact that six-thousands years of friendship is coming to a close right now and there’s nothing he can do. He recognizes the set to Aziraphale’s stubborn shoulders and knows that he won’t be able to persuade the angel to see his side. Not in the remaining amount of time they have together on this godforsaken planet. And this planet <em>is</em> godforsaken, despite the fact that Crowley loves it here. God has literally turned her back on it and all of her creatures living on it— Crowley and Aziraphale included. The cracks connect along his heart and the final blow is delivered, shattering it inside his chest instantly.</p>
<p>He starts talking before he can stop himself. But really, what’s the harm? The world only has a few hours left and Aziraphale is clenching his jaw in a way that suggests his refusal to take anything Crowley says right now seriously. But despite that, he’s still here, staring pleadingly at Crowley and listening to what he has to say, even if he has every intention of dismissing it immediately.</p>
<p>(But Aziraphale never <em>really</em> dismisses anything Crowley says and Crowley, God help him— even though God <em>won’t</em> help him— knows this. He knows that Aziraphale only ever pushes back when he feels that he <em>has</em> to, never because he <em>wants</em> to.)</p>
<p>“Sorry, then.” He begins, his voice raw to even his own ears. “Sorry for mistaking those last six-thousand years. Sorry for all those times I saved you.”</p>
<p>“Crowley—” </p>
<p>They had fought before, sure. They’d fought plenty of times before. The last big fight they’d had was the holy water debacle and it had taken Crowley some seventy-nine years to show up and apologize with a flourish. It had taken Aziraphale a total of one-hundred-and-five years to change his mind and see Crowley’s side. But they didn’t have seventy-nine years to work this out. They barely even had seventy-nine minutes. It was suddenly do or die— quite literally—and Crowley couldn’t stop.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for all of it, okay, angel? For twisting your arm into our arrangement, for putting you in a position you so clearly hated for six-thousand years.” It’s petty. He knows it’s petty but the words burn the back of his throat and he knows he won’t be able to keep them in. Every time he looks at Aziraphale’s purposefully hard expression, he loses a little more control. He’s supposed to be able to fix this, it’s his <em>job</em> to fix this, but he can’t because Aziraphale is being the infuriatingly stubborn and well-intentioned angel he is and Crowley suddenly has run out of time to say everything he’s been holding close to his heart for six-thousand years. “I’m sorry for the whole lot of it, alright? I’m even sorry for falling in love with you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale becomes very, very still across the bandstand, his hand hovering in the air between the two of them like he was moments away from reaching out to Crowley. His eyes are wide, his cold expression melting immediately into something that is so vulnerable, it’s almost painful to look at. Crowley watches as Aziraphale’s lips part in wonder and for a split second— so quick that it’s gone by the time Crowley blinks— he thinks he sees the ghost of a hopeful smile on Aziraphale’s lips. With a level of bitterness that he’s mastered in his time in hell, Crowley squashes that thought before it can take roots.</p>
<p>“Is that what you wanted to hear?” Crowley presses on. He takes a few steps closer. The decreased distance between them hurts like a knife twisting between his ribs, like a pool of boiling sulfur waiting for him at the bottom of his fall. “That I’m sorry? Will that make your eternity bearable? I’ll say it again, if you’d like. I’ll say it as many times as you want. I’m sorry for this whole wretched thing! The entire thing is my fault and I apologize for it. Go on off into your eternity knowing that you’re free of the blame, angel.” </p>
<p>He’s breathing heavy and everything hurts. </p>
<p>Aziraphale has pulled his hand back, clutching it against his chest and the way his expression has fallen should be criminal. Crowley hates himself for causing it. “Crowley, my dear boy—”</p>
<p>His bones feel brittle, like they’re going to crumble under the weight of him. His heart feels like it already has crumbled and is simply a pile of dust between the two of them, waiting for a gust of wind to come in and sweep it away. Or perhaps waiting for Aziraphale to tread across it on his way out, tracking the dust behind him like the last remnants of Crowley who can’t let go of something he cares about, even if it destroys him completely. And it does— it <em>has</em> destroyed him completely.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” He says again, raggedly, brokenly, devastated. “I wanted so much for you. For us.”</p>
<p>His lungs might just collapse in on themselves. Stupid corporeal body, trembling beneath him, shaking with so many emotions he can’t even name them all, not that he really has the time to try.</p>
<p>Aziraphale isn’t saying anything now, but he looks even closer to crying than he had before and Crowley assumes that has to be a bad sign. The silence stretches between them and everything Crowley thought he knew about Aziraphale— his feelings and hopes for the future, for starters— stretches along with it until it snaps between them and shrivels up into nothing. Well, it wasn’t like he was going to really have time to mourn. It wasn’t like he was going to get a chance to regret his words. (Unless, of course, he’s counting his eternity in hell in which he will have ample time to replay this moment and hurt himself with Aziraphale’s devastated expression over and over again. He’s not counting that at the moment though, solely because he doesn’t think he can handle anymore). The silence still stung though, cutting deeper than any words could.</p>
<p>He steels his spine, sends one last, fleeting look at Aziraphale before turning to stalk out of the bandstand, throwing a “Have a nice doomsday,” as casually as he can over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t mean it, of course.</p>
<p>Well, to be more precise, he didn’t mean his apology. Crowley wasn’t in the least bit sorry, not for any of it. He didn’t regret a moment of the last six-thousand years where he and Aziraphale were together and he certainly didn’t regret falling in love with Aziraphale. It was the only thing that had made the sheer idea of eternity bearable, and it was certainly the only bright spot in the last six-thousand years of existence. When Crowley had said that being damned wasn’t so bad once he’d gotten used to it, he’d meant it. He’d just conveniently left out the part where he admitted that Aziraphale was the sole reason it wasn’t so bad. Crowley couldn’t even <em>imagine</em> what it would be like to regret falling for Aziraphale— and he had a very good imagination.</p>
<p>He leans over the steering wheel, peering out at the people bustling along the sidewalks. Humans, as usual, had absolutely no idea what the future held for them. They were meandering about, busy with their noses in their cell phones, completely unaware that the world as they knew it was about to end. And that was the best case scenario. The worst case was that <em>everything</em> was about to end. Still, they wandered around without knowing that they were simply pawns in God’s Great Plan, the blasted things. They seemed content with their lot in life, though, and Crowley wondered what it would be like to feel that way. </p>
<p>“Angel!” Crowley spots a familiar head of white curls and an outfit that hasn’t been in style for decades, slamming on the brakes and nearly jumping out of the Bentley before he’s even put the car in park. Aziraphale pauses on the sidewalk, turning his whole body to face Crowley and there’s something about the motion that strikes Crowley— something so painfully open. His steps falter and he stumbles. “Look, I’m sorry. I apologize for everything I’ve said.”</p>
<p>It’s not his best apology. Mostly because apologizing for apologizing seems redundant and perhaps even a bit pedantic, but then again that sort of thing is right up Aziraphale’s alley. Normally Crowley would apologize with some grand gesture— burning his feet on consecrated ground, for instance— but he didn’t have the time to devise something so great and Aziraphale was hardly a damsel in distress that needed saving. Or rather, he <em>was</em> a bit of a damsel in distress, facing off the end of the world alone and all that, but he was refusing to be saved and if there was one thing Crowley loved about him— which there wasn’t just one, there were millions of things Crowley loved about him— it was his sheer, unwavering strength.</p>
<p>Blasted angel, making Crowley’s heart ache with love for him even now, when they’re the worst they have ever been.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looks stricken, and it draws Crowley out of his thoughts and makes his still fragile heart plummet to his feet. “Crowley.”</p>
<p>“Work with me here,” Crowley presses on. He considers reaching out to grab a hold of Aziraphale, to feel him between his fingers, alive and firm. He doesn’t, but it’s mostly because of the look on Aziraphale’s face and the way it’s pinning him to his spot. “C’mon, get in the car, angel. We can go to Alpha Centauri, just like I said. It’s beautiful this time of year. It could— it could just be <em>us</em>, angel. You and I.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, I <em>can’t</em>.” Aziraphale takes a step back and Crowley feels it echo in the crater that forms in his heart, mirroring the growing distance between them. “You— you know that I can’t just go off with you. We’re— we’re <em>enemies</em>!”</p>
<p>He wonders, briefly, how it got like this. This sort of chasm wasn’t ever there between them— not even when they’d first met, when they had, actually, been enemies. Aziraphale had laid himself bare for Crowley within moments of them meeting each other and Crowley had seen it for the gift that it was, spending the next six-thousand years making sure that he never took that gift for granted or used it against Aziraphale. He dedicated the entirety of his existence on Earth— and had been fully prepared to dedicate the remainder of his life— to learning about Aziraphale, understanding him. </p>
<p>Aziraphale <em>is</em> his hereditary enemy, there’s no denying that. But he had never <em>acted</em> like Crowley’s enemy, had never pushed him away, locked him out or let him down. He never— or had never, until today— kept secrets from Crowley, and only, at most, chastised Crowley with fond exasperation. The distance that was yawning open between them now was distance that should have been there in the beginning. They were doing everything so wrong, so backwards. The idea was to get <em>closer</em> as time progressed, not further apart. Hopelessly, Crowley wondered if there was anything that could shrink this rift and bring them together again.</p>
<p>“Angel,” Crowley does finally reach out, catching the edge of Aziraphale’s jacket sleeve between his fingers, his thumb brushing across the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist. It’s like a jolt of electricity shoots up his arm. He holds on tighter. “I have spent six-thousand years decidedly <em>not</em> being your enemy and I’m not going to stop now. I know you have appearances to keep up but all that’s going to be a pile of rubbish here, soon. Go off with me, angel. Please.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale softens, turning his hand to grip around Crowley’s wrist and the touch is so reassuring that Crowley suddenly feels like he’s anchored to the ground and everything is going to be okay. “Listen, Crowley. I’m just— I’m going to talk to the right people, get it all sorted. And then we won’t have to go anywhere! We’ll be able to stay right here, like we’ve always been.”</p>
<p>Perhaps it was meant to be comforting, but Crowley doesn’t like the sound of that. He doesn’t want to go back to the way they’ve always been— keeping a specifically calculated distance between them and dodging any eyes that might be prying, only meeting clandestinely and years apart. He doesn’t want any of that. He wants Aziraphale. That’s it, that’s the entirety of his list of things he wants out of this world— Aziraphale.</p>
<p>Belatedly he realized that Aziraphale's actual point was that he would be taking this issue up with a higher authority, and Crowley couldn’t take it. He couldn’t listen to Aziraphale’s optimism, to his hopefulness, because Crowley didn’t think he could feel either of those emotions anymore. Every single thing Aziraphale had said had felt fundamentally wrong to Crowley in some way and the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand around his wrist was no longer a buoy but instead a handcuff, trying to lock him to something he didn’t want.</p>
<p>“You’re so clever.” He said honestly, cutting into Aziraphale’s rambling. “You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, angel. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid? You know none of that will happen. We’ll— we’ll <em>never…</em> not while they’re still watching us.”</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale bristles at the comment, pulling his arm away from Crowley and clasping his hands tightly together behind his back. It would look like a normal, composed posture to anyone else, but Crowley could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was restraining himself. Crowley’s wrist suddenly felt cold with the absence of Aziraphale’s touch and he knew in that moment that this was exactly how he was going to feel for the rest of eternity. The lack of Aziraphale’s touch was just a taste of what he’d be feeling trapped in hell, forever separated from the only thing that had ever honestly mattered to him.</p>
<p>“We can’t just let the world end, Crowley!” Aziraphale chastises, his lips quirked down in a disapproving frown. “I’m certain, if I can just <em>talk</em> to the Almighty—”</p>
<p>“Angel,” Crowley steps forward into his space again, desperate for that closeness, to feel like Aziraphale was still there. If he just kept <em>trying</em>, he was bound to get Aziraphale to see his side. “The Almighty doesn’t care about us— doesn’t care about <em>you</em>. But <em>I</em> do. <em>I</em> care about you. Aziraphale, I’m begging you…”</p>
<p>“I forgive you.” Aziraphale replied curtly and it shattered Crowley completely.</p>
<p>If Crowley thought he had hurt before, it was nothing compared to the way he hurt now. He didn’t think Aziraphale could dismiss his feelings any more directly than he had with his deafening silence at the bandstand, but it turns out that he was wrong. It turns out having Aziraphale dismiss his feelings completely, having him blow them off and push them aside as if they were nothing more than some last minute loose ends he needed to tie up before the world imploded hurt a whole hell of a lot more than Aziraphale just not saying anything. Crowley sucked in a breath through his teeth.</p>
<p>For the second time that day, they find themselves standing on opposite sides, staring into the widening gap between them. </p>
<p>For the second time that day, Crowley found himself desperately trying to hold himself together. It was getting harder with each passing second.</p>
<p>People continued on past them, bumping shoulders with them from time to time. Crowley could feel the metaphorical clock ticking, counting down the moments until it was all taken from him. He knew God was testing the humans, she’d never tried to hide that, but he felt like she was testing him, too. He felt like this entire game she’d been playing with the universe had been designed specifically to put him at a disadvantage. And now here they were, at the very height of the game. God had all the cards and Crowley— Crowley had nothing.</p>
<p>Not even a best friend.</p>
<p>Not even his angel.</p>
<p>“Keep your forgiveness, I don’t want it.” He says, and he’s certain Aziraphale must be able to see the pain in his eyes, even with his sunglasses. If nothing else, he should be able to hear the sharp edges to Crowley’s voice, might even be able to feel the way they tear up his throat as he spits them out. “Do whatever you want, angel. But I’m getting out of here! When I’m off in the stars I— I won’t even <em>think</em> of you!” He calls over his shoulder as he storms off to climb back in the Bentley.</p>
<p>Aziraphale watches him go, his face crumpling, but he makes no move to follow Crowley, or to stop him.</p>
<p>“And maybe then,” Crowley yells, a moment before he slams his car door shut behind him, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. “I’ll finally get over you!”</p>
<p>He peels out of there so fast that not even angelic intervention could stop him, or even slow him down. He peels out of there before Aziraphale has a chance to call him on his lie.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite the fact that Aziraphale had rejected Crowley— more than once and in no uncertain terms— Crowley wasn’t going to give up.</p>
<p>Perhaps, given the situation, he should’ve been putting his energy towards preventing the end of the world, but that wasn’t high on his list of priorities. If he couldn’t fix things with Aziraphale, the world wasn’t worth saving.</p>
<p>(In hindsight he would realize that saving the world would give him more time to work things out with Aziraphale, but thinking straight in the midst of a broken heart is difficult to manage, even for demons).</p>
<p>After his close call with Hastur and hearing Aziraphale’s voice on the other end of the phone for the briefest of moments, Crowley decides that nothing else matters. The fact that Aziraphale had called him, ready to give up the information that had been keeping them apart had given Crowley more hope than he’d like to admit. Hope wasn’t really something a demon had experience with, but Crowley could feel it like a buoy in his chest, keeping him afloat while he raced across town on a familiar route. He could still feel the seconds ticking by, so he pressed his foot harder into the gas pedal and used sheer force of will to keep everything out of his path.</p>
<p>He sees the bookshop from the end of the street. He can’t usually see the bookshop from the end of the street. He’s not <em>supposed</em> to see the bookshop from the end of the street. The bookshop is supposed to blend in, barely even existing behind the throngs of people that amble by every day, kept away by a mysterious feeling that tells them they’re not welcome inside. But there are only a few people in front of the bookshop now, and those few people are wearing uniforms.</p>
<p>Crowley slams to a halt, climbing out of his Bentley in the middle of the street. He barely even feels the ground beneath his feet as he stumbles towards the definitely burning shop.</p>
<p>“Are you the owner of this establishment?” A fireman asks as Crowley rushes for the front door.</p>
<p>“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” It’s an absentminded bite at best.</p>
<p>He can feel the heat from the fire before he even gets close to it, burning a path straight to his heart and pulling it down in flames, too. With a snap of his finger, the doors fly open and Crowley strides in with confidence. He has absolutely no fear of the fire, but he does have a lot of dread about what he’s going to find inside. The doors snap shut behind him, locking out any of the humans who might get in the way (or worse, might see him fall apart).</p>
<p>He hadn’t planned out exactly what he was going to say to Aziraphale, but he’d had at least a little bit of an idea. But now, seeing the bookshop engulfed in flames, every single thing Crowley could have ever said disappears from his mind. </p>
<p>The fire is <em>everywhere</em> and Aziraphale is <em>nowhere</em>. </p>
<p>Crowley rushes further into the shop, dodging flaming bits of paper as they scatter to the ground, eyes searching for Aziraphale anywhere in this mess. As a demon, fire doesn’t mean a lot to him. But for an angel—</p>
<p>“Aziraphale!” Crowley cries, rounding one of the shelves and searching down every aisle. His heart is racing in his chest, his pulse in his throat, making it harder for him to swallow. He feels frantic as he runs through the different rows of books looking for his angel. “Aziraphale where the heaven are you, you idiot?”</p>
<p>He checks the last row of books but doesn’t find Aziraphale. It’s just burning book after burning book, Aziraphale’s life work and biggest passion up in smoke around him. His human body chokes on the smoke and he coughs, his eyes watering. </p>
<p>He could’ve prevented this. </p>
<p>The thought comes to him all at once and nearly forces his knees to crumble underneath him. If he’d talked to Aziraphale on the phone, if he’d used <em>that</em> phone call to teleport away from Hastur—</p>
<p>He could’ve prevented this.</p>
<p>He would’ve popped through the phone line, appearing next to Aziraphale in a flash. He would’ve thrown everything aside and told Aziraphale that he was here, ready and willing to do whatever Aziraphale needed of him. He would’ve fought alongside his angel to save the world. The bookshop wouldn’t be burning, Aziraphale wouldn’t be missing. Everything would be different if he had made just one different choice.</p>
<p>It’s a thought that Crowley is familiar with, one he has often. It’s worn smooth in his mind from frequent handling. If he had just made a different choice, everything in his life would be different. He had a number of choices to choose from, had ordered them in his mind of which ones he’d change first if ever given the chance. This moment now, the decision to hang up on Aziraphale earlier instead of talking to him, teleporting to him, was definitively in his number one spot now, and he didn’t think he’d ever regret a choice more.</p>
<p>The sound of shattering glass barely has a chance to register before Crowley feels the force of the water from the firehose knocking him off his feet. He falls to the ground, stunned, staring up at the flames dancing above him in mockery. The water turns to a mist, filling the bookshop and the flames create tiny rainbows in their reflections. Crowley remembers the first rainbow, remembers how God had created it as a promise— “to not… drown everyone again”, Aziraphale had said. Funny, he thought, scoffing at God’s ironic humor, because he certainly feels like he’s drowning right now.</p>
<p>It takes a moment for the air to come back to his lungs, the force of his fall having knocked it right out of him. When he does manage to breathe again, he’s coughing around the smoke and choking on all the feelings rising up the back of his throat. His eyes burn, but it’s just the tears.</p>
<p>“Somebody killed my best friend.” He murmurs to himself, looking blindly around the bookshop for something that could prove him wrong. </p>
<p>Aziraphale had <em>just</em> called him from the shop. Crowley can still see the phone, the receiver discarded on the ground instead of hung up properly. It happened fast, then; the fire and whatever happened to Aziraphale. In the blink of an eye, the shop had gone up in smoke and Aziraphale had— he’d—</p>
<p>Whatever happened to Aziraphale, because Crowley refuses to try and picture it. He refuses to think of Aziraphale’s face as he watched the thing he loved most go up in flames, irreparably damaged and lost forever. For a moment, Crowley thinks that he might just stay in this burning bookshop and let the end find him here, laid amongst the only reminders he has of the person he loves. If nothing else, it seems properly fitting.</p>
<p>“Bastards!” He yells, because he has nothing to lose at this point and too many emotions to try and control. Demons aren’t meant to have emotions, but then again Crowley hadn’t been a good demon from the start. “All of you!”</p>
<p>With everything gone, Crowley only has one choice left. He slams his fists into the floor of the bookshop— or rather, he <em>tries</em> to but instead finds one single, solitary unburned book underneath his hand instead. His fingers wrap around the well-loved spine as he pulls it into his lap, every last facade he’s ever crafted falling at his feet, going up in smoke with the rest of the shop. It’s only Crowley— the bare, exposed, real Crowley— and the only remaining intact memory of the person he’d do anything for.</p>
<p>Gathering his jumbled pieces together, Crowley manages to stand, clutching the book tight to his side and stalking past the flames. His hair is wet, soot clings to his skin, the shop is falling to bits around him and Crowley decides in that moment that not a single thing left on this Earth matters to him.</p>
<p>The Earth can burn for all that he cares. He’s going to burn with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Even though he’s miles away from the bookshop and the firemen have, theoretically, gotten the fire under control, Crowley can still taste the thick smoke, heavy on his tongue.</p>
<p>He chases it with whiskey, the burn of the alcohol numbing him entirely.</p>
<p>He’s lost track of just how much time before the end of the world— a purposeful feat because as far as he’s concerned, the world deserves to burn and heaven and hell deserve to go right along with it for taking his angel away from him. With Aziraphale gone, Crowley can’t even find a reason to care if the world survives or not. In fact, he’s leaning closer to not.</p>
<p>If the world survived and Aziraphale didn’t— well that’s too cruel of a joke for even God to play.</p>
<p>Crowley can’t even imagine what it would be like to walk around the Earth after, to see the ghost of Aziraphale at every corner, to hear the whisper of his voice on the wind, the gentleness of his touch in the kiss of the sun. There wouldn’t be anywhere he could go to escape it. He and Aziraphale both had been to all the kingdoms of the world and then some. They’d shared six-thousand years on this planet, they’d seen every corner of it and they’d seen them <em>together</em>. It didn’t matter what he did or where he went, Aziraphale would be there. Except that he wouldn’t actually be there.</p>
<p>Crowley drains the rest of his glass in a futile attempt to stem the train wreck of heartbreak that his thoughts were becoming.</p>
<p>He’d been holding out hope that Aziraphale simply hadn’t been in the bookshop when it had gone up in flames, but the longer he sat in this pub, the more drinks he downed in a hope of actually drowning, the more he was forced to face the reality that Aziraphale was gone. He couldn’t feel Aziraphale anymore, nestled in his heart like a second heartbeat, steady and strong and infuriatingly perfect. He couldn’t feel the silly trouble Aziraphale often found himself in, didn’t feel the familiar pull of an angel in need of saving.</p>
<p>Over the millennia, he’d gotten exceptionally good at always knowing where Aziraphale was, even if they weren’t together. Conversely, Aziraphale had gotten exceptionally good of always knowing where Crowley was. No matter what they were doing, they were always aware of each other and their doings, always ready to step in and help if necessary. And it had been necessary, at least a handful of times over the years. Crowley had come to Aziraphale’s aid more than once, saving him from the inconvenience of a discorporation and saving them both from the potential of never seeing each other again. So Crowley had learned how to be in tune with Aziraphale, how to know what he was feeling and needing. And right now, that spot inside his chest that existed specifically for all things Aziraphale was achingly empty and Crowley was wrecked.</p>
<p>With people around, he shouldn’t be so careless with his miracles, but nobody was keeping score and he was more than ready to stand in defiance of hell if they dared give him a hard time. With hardly even a snap, his glass was full again and he was sipping at it, the bite of the alcohol dulling more and more with each sip, the fuzziness in his head thickening.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean to fall.” He mumbles, his words slurring together slightly. It’s the thought that had been rolling around in his head for the last hour. </p>
<p>In the six-thousand some years he had been on Earth, Crowley had tried his best not to wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t fallen. He tried not to wonder if he and Aziraphale would have met still, if they would’ve been able to be properly together. In the end, it was a useless line of thinking to follow because he <em>had</em> fallen and there was certainly no way he was about to get back in God’s good graces. In fact, as far as Crowley could tell, God didn’t <em>have</em> good graces. She was either neutral about you or she kicked you out.</p>
<p>Aziraphale was the perfect case in point. He was unfailingly kind and always doing the right thing. And okay, sure, he was a little bit of a bastard, but that’s what made him the perfect being that he was. He kept Crowley on his toes, startling a laugh out of him more often than not and never failing to surprise him with just how open and forgiving he could be. Aziraphale was everything that an angel should be, in Crowley’s opinion, and God was indifferent to him at best, more than a little irked with him at worst.</p>
<p>(So, fine, Crowley was a bit biased, being in love with Aziraphale and all. But was it really bias, or was it simply the fact that Aziraphale was perfect? And who wouldn’t fall in love with someone so utterly perfect?)</p>
<p>“Before I knew it,” He slumped down on the table, the book he’d taken from Aziraphale’s shop mocking him from where it sat just to his right, ash dusting the cover. “I was doing a million lightyear dive into a pool of boiling sulfur.”</p>
<p>And that pool of boiling sulfur hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the simple knowledge that Aziraphale was gone. Crowley would take that dive again— would take it every single day for the rest of eternity— in order to have even a few more moments with Aziraphale, to get a chance to say a proper goodbye. Or, best yet, to get a chance to tell God to her face just what he thinks of her “great” plan before storming out and taking his angel with him.</p>
<p>There’s a shimmer of light in the seat across from Crowley and he blinks a few times, thinking his alcohol brain must’ve made it up. He glances to the seat to see a shimmering outline of Aziraphale sitting there, glancing around him, posture as perfect as ever.</p>
<p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathes, sitting up. Even if it’s a figment of his cruel imagination, Crowley can’t tear his eyes away. If this is the last time he ever gets to see Aziraphale, he’s going to make the most of it, committing every single thing about his appearance to memory. And then Aziraphale shifts and makes a small noise and Crowley’s traitorous heart stops in his chest. “Are you really here?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale glances around, eyes not really landing on anything. “Not sure, never done this before. Can you hear me?”</p>
<p>And he can. Oh god, Crowley can hear him! Aziraphale is— there? Well, somewhere. Aziraphale is somewhere but Crowley can see him and he can talk to him and it’s a sobering moment if there ever was one. “ ‘course I can.”</p>
<p>“I—” Aziraphale begins and Crowley gets the distinct impression that he can’t actually see where he is. He continues to glance around, like he’s trying to get his bearings but simply can’t. “I’m afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things.” Crowley lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a bitter laugh and watery sob. “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”</p>
<p>“No,” Crowley answers immediately. He leans heavily onto the table in front of him, afraid that his body might give out on him and he’d suddenly become the burning pile of goo. “Things changed. I lost— I lost you.” The words try to get stuck in his throat and almost succeed, but Crowley forces them out. He watches the way Aziraphale’s eyes flutter at the words. “ s’no point in going without you.”</p>
<p>“My dear boy,” Aziraphale says with such warm fondness that Crowley thinks his tone alone could change the world. It had certainly changed his world. And in this exact moment, it had given Crowley his world back. “I’m right here.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, about that,” Crowley shifted a little in his seat. “Where is ‘here’? Tell me where you are, angel. Wherever it is, I’ll come to you.”</p>
<p>“I—I’m not quite sure, honestly.” Aizraphale answers, his gaze generally focused in Crowley’s direction. For a moment, his eyes become startling bright and Crowley wonders if Aziraphale can see him. “I don’t think I’m anywhere, just yet.”</p>
<p>Crowley makes some sort of noise that can’t accurately be described as words and Aziraphale smiles a little to himself in response. For a moment, it feels like time stands completely still around them, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of them at this table. No war, no Armageddon, nothing but whatever it is they have between them. Eventually, Crowley knows, they’re going to have to talk about everything. If they survive.</p>
<p>Suddenly Crowley is back to wanting to save the world.</p>
<p>“Listen,” Aziraphale says, and the magic bubble that had been surrounding them pops, the rest of the world filtering back in. Crowley’s a little bit bitter. “We have to hurry, the end of the world is coming. While I figure out this, ah, situation, I need you to head to my bookshop. There’s a book there that you need.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Crowley feels his heart sink to his feet and marvels, for just a moment, at the sheer resilience of these human hearts. His has broken at least three separate times today and it apparently is strong enough to break again. Not really a great trait, he thinks. “You’re bookshop’s— it’s gone. I’m really sorry.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Aziraphale focuses on Crowley and the hesitant question is clear on his face.</p>
<p>And there’s heartbreak number four. Crowley thinks he ought to start keeping track since he’s apparently going to keep wracking them up like this. “It burned down.”</p>
<p>“All of it?” There’s that wobble to Aziraphale’s lower lip that betrays just how devastated he is by this news. It’s the only thing about him that seems anything short of composed. Anyone would have easily overlooked it. But Crowley wasn’t overlooking in. In fact, he was specifically looking <em>for</em> it so he could determine just how badly his angel was hurt. The only thing that stops this from being a direct dagger to his heart is the new knowledge that Aziraphale, at least, didn’t have to watch his shop burn.</p>
<p>He waffles back and forth a few times, trying to figure out how exactly to answer that before settling on a simple, “Yeah.”</p>
<p>And then it’s not just a tiny cue that he’s upset. His entire face crumples and Crowley wants so badly to reach across the table and comfort him, to snap his fingers and bring the bookshop back in perfect shape, to tell heaven and hell off so that Aziraphale can lead the peaceful life he’s always desired. He wants so many things— has always wanted so many more things than he was ever supposed to have— and it feels like they’re being taken from him one by one. He swipes at his mysteriously damp eyes. </p>
<p>“Oh,” Aziraphale allows himself a moment to indulge, his eyes directed down at his hands which now lay limply in his lap. Crowley watches his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath and visibly pulls himself together. Crowley feels an overwhelming love for Aziraphale in that moment, starting from the core of his bones and overflowing with such force it’d likely knock Aziraphale over if he had been here in his corporeal body. Still, as an angel, he must feel it. This is the exact strength Crowley admires in him, so. “Well, there was a book I needed you to get. The one the girl with the bicycle left behind. <em>The Nice and Accurate Prophecies—</em>”</p>
<p>“Agnes Nutter, yes!” Crowley cries, feeling triumphant for a moment. He snatches the book off of the table next to him and holds it up, pointing to it. “I took it! Souvenir!”</p>
<p>It’s not until after he mentions it’s a souvenir that he realizes how that might actually sound. He won’t deny that he’d intended to spend the rest of eternity alternating between glaring at the blasted book and clutching it to his chest in a desperate attempt to feel even a little bit of Aziraphale’s presence again as he nursed what he could only assume would be a permanent broken heart. He’s just not going to say that directly to Aziraphale and would rather prefer that he didn’t infer it.</p>
<p>Luckily, Aziraphale doesn’t stick on that last word, instead catching onto the idea in general and lighting up. Well, lighting up a bit more than he had been. His eyes were still full of a profound sadness that Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fully shake. “You have it? Excellent! Look inside, I made notes. I worked it all out…”</p>
<p>Crowley listens, flipping diligently through the pages as Aziraphale explains where he needs to be and why. He doesn’t like it— he’d still much rather sweep Aziraphale away and keep him safe, where neither heaven nor hell could reach him, but Aziraphale has made it clear by this point that he won’t leave and so Crowley’s left with only one choice: join him, fight like hell and make sure he has an angel and an Earth to wake up to tomorrow.</p>
<p>Today really was a rollercoaster of a day, he thought bitterly.</p>
<p>With a gentle snap, he shut the book and clutched it under his arm. The alcohol had effectively worn off by now— the majority of it disappearing the moment he’d heard Aziraphale speak again, his heart rate jumping so high he felt like he could run marathons— and he was as ready as he was going to be for what was to come. (Which is to say that he wasn’t particularly ready at all, considering they had no plan. But they didn’t have any further time so he’d have to make do with that imagination of his).</p>
<p>“Are you sure I can’t come get you, angel?” Crowley asks again. He tamps down whatever things he’s feeling, whatever words he wants to say and simply waits for Aziraphale to answer. If he’s going to commit to saving the world, well, he has to <em>actually</em> commit to it and that means saving any important conversations for later.</p>
<p>“I need— I need to find a receptive body.” Aziraphale murmurs, glancing down at his iridescent hands. Crowley takes in a breath and holds it. “Pity I can’t inhabit yours. Angel, demon, probably explode.” Aziraphale lets out a weak laugh and Crowley tries to mimic it, but it just comes out as a sort of strangled sound. “No, I’ll meet you there. Tadfield airport. Better get a wiggle on, we’re running out of time.”</p>
<p>“<span class="pwa-mark decorator">Wha</span>—” Crowley starts to question, but Aziraphale has already faded from before him.</p>
<p>He glances down at his half full drink and shoves it aside, kicking the chair out from behind him as he goes, Agnes’ book clutched tightly in one hand. Alright, he tells himself, new plan. Head to Tadfield airport, meet Aziraphale there, figure out how to stop the Apocalypse and then, tomorrow, have a conversation with Aziraphale. </p>
<p>It didn’t sound doable in the least, but he’d done many miraculous things in his time on Earth. This wasn’t the time to start doubting himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprisingly, most of it went according to plan.</p>
<p>Crowley made it to Tadfield airport to find that Aziraphale had already hitched a ride there and was waiting for him. They’d stared down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, heaven, hell and Satan himself and somehow came out the other side unscathed. The world hadn’t ended and they had, in fact, had a new dawn to wake up to. For most accounts, it really went swimmingly.</p>
<p>(The fact that they themselves did hardly anything at all wasn’t worthy of note in this instance because the point remained that nearly everything Crowley had wanted to happen had happened. It didn’t matter <em>how</em>.)</p>
<p>But there was one thing on Crowley’s list that hadn’t gone according to plan at all: having an important conversation with Aziraphale.</p>
<p>Well, he supposes that’s not entirely fair. They had multiple important conversations last night when they decided <em>how</em> they were supposed to survive today. But they hadn’t had <em>the</em> important conversation that he’d unintentionally started at the bandstand. Still, if he really wants it, he can say that they did have an important conversation and chalk it up as a win.</p>
<p>He would do that, too, boasting about the fact that he’d checked everything off his list if he’d found himself in a slightly less compromising position. As it were, he found himself in Aziraphale’s body, tied to a chair in heaven with a tornado of hell fire spinning in front of him and Gabe’s sardonic smile staring back at him. So even though he had checked everything off of his list, he wouldn’t go so far as to say that his last twenty-four hours had gone as planned.</p>
<p>The ropes bite into his wrists, but Crowley hardly feels them. He sits stiffly, doing his best to channel Aziraphale so the other angels don’t notice the difference— not that he thinks they will. In six-thousand years, Aziraphale has had, as far as Crowley knows, a handful of contact with the other angels. They certainly didn’t know him well enough to know his mannerisms, to notice the tiny shifts in his personality. And there <em>had</em> to be a few miniscule shifts simply because it wasn’t Aziraphale sitting in front of them, but rather Crowley.</p>
<p>And then, of course, there were a few additional changes because Crowley was <em>pissed</em>.</p>
<p>He shifted a little in his seat and leveled what he hoped was a completely neutral expression on Gabe, who looked far too pleased with the current situation. If Crowley had his way, he’d be raining hell fire on this place, taking all of the angels down for the way they had spoken to him in just the few minutes he’d been here. Had Aziraphale been enduring that kind of behavior for six-thousand-plus years? Had they been making passive aggressive— or even just outright aggressive— comments to his face and behind his back all this time? Had they really done their best to sabotage him at every turn? Because that was the impression Crowley was getting and he was not taking it particularly well.</p>
<p>But Aziraphale didn’t have the temper Crowley had, so he had to let his distaste simmer below the surface. He kept still as Michael approached, pulling the ropes off of his wrists with ease. They were trying to intimidate him, but it wouldn’t work. Not only was Crowley not afraid of them, but he was certain Aziraphale wouldn’t bend to their pressure, either. After all, he’d literally just watched Aziraphale stand up to Gabe and Beez in front of a whole collection of people. That was significantly higher stakes than this.</p>
<p>The poise and strength which Aziraphale exhibited in every situation were two things Crowley had always envied him for. Rarely, if ever, had Aziraphale appeared shaken or uncertain of what to do. That wasn’t to say that he was always certain, but rather to imply that on the outside, he always at least <em>looked</em> in control of the situation. </p>
<p>In six-thousand years, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale back down from something he felt strongly about. If he ever changed his mind on something, it was because he hadn’t been that convicted to begin with. That was the defining characteristic of him— his moral compass and his ability to stick to it with unwavering certainty. Crowley knew that stopping Armageddon was one of those things that Aziraphale had that unwavering conviction for, so it was easy for him to pull off the unapologetic look as he waited for the angels to do anything, hoping silently that hell was being kind to Aziraphale.</p>
<p>The switch had been Aziraphale’s idea. Well, it had been <em>Agnes’</em> idea, technically, but Aziraphale had been the one to put it into words and then into practice. Crowley had been hesitant about it at first. He didn’t have any problems about walking into heaven for Aziraphale, but he didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale going to hell for him. His relationship with hell was tenuous at best, held together by the thin threads of the lies Crowley had been telling them for years. It was only a matter of time before those snapped and left him in a bad spot. He figured acting in direct defiance of hell was as good of a catalyst as anything for that, leaving Aziraphale in hot water.</p>
<p>But Aziraphale hadn’t wavered, insisting that he could handle it. That he <em>would</em> handle it. And Crowley had agreed because the other option seemed like both of them getting killed and he couldn’t really say he fancied that idea either.</p>
<p>The tornado spun in front of him, the heat warming his exposed cheeks and reminding him of the burning bookshop. It had been so hard for him to walk in the shop again this morning, to look around and see everything the way it had been just days before. It was a miracle— could it be called a miracle when it was a creation of the antichrist?— but it was still hard to stomach. It had taken Crowley a few minutes of standing outside the shop to draw on the steely resolve of Aziraphale before he felt like he could step inside and even then, it had been hard to do.</p>
<p>Finally Gabe and the other angels finished murmuring to each other and turned their attention back to him. When he was ordered to rise, Crowley did. He took a moment once he stood to straighten the bow tie, tug down the cuff of his jacket, smooth down the front of his shirt. He was in absolutely no hurry and it was vindicating to make Gabe wait, his sadistic smile slipping with each passing second that he was denied what he so clearly wanted— Aziraphale’s destruction.</p>
<p>Crowley couldn’t wait to see his face when he found out.</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose I can persuade you?” Crowley asks, even though he’s already certain of the answer. He asks because he knows Aziraphale would ask. Aziraphale would try everything to mend the bridges between them, to end on good terms. It was who he was. “We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake.”</p>
<p>The last sentence still tingles a little on his tongue.</p>
<p>“Well, for <em>heaven’s</em> sake,” Gabe bristles, stiffening his spine, his glare darkening. “We’re meant to make an example of traitors.”</p>
<p>It takes every ounce of control Crowley has not to smile his own mocking smile. </p>
<p>“So,” Gabe says when Crowley makes no moves. “Into the fire.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Crowley can’t stop the tight smile he’s seen Aziraphale give millions of times in tense situations. “Well, lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.”</p>
<p>“Just shut up and die already!” Gabe barks.</p>
<p>Crowley takes a deep breath, channels Aziraphale. There are so many things he’d love to say to Gabe— even a few gestures he thinks Gabe is particularly worthy of. But right now he’s not Crowley and no matter how badly he wants to defend Aziraphale, he simply has to focus on getting through this alive. He’s utterly unafraid of heaven— Gabe in particular, the blowfish— but the consequences of his actions now won’t be carried on his shoulders. Anything he does will reflect on Aziraphale and Aziraphale will be the one to pay the price.</p>
<p>He steps into the flames.</p>
<p>It feels nice, actually. Heaven had always been a little too cold.</p>
<p>The flames lap at his body, swirling around him but not touching him. He takes a deep breath, cracks his neck, stares pointedly at Gabe. He finds, when he’s Aziraphale, it’s easier to channel that confident energy. It’s easier to look unruffled, to feel in control. He wonders if Aziraphale knows how lucky he has it to feel this way all the time. </p>
<p>Gabe, Michael and Uriel stare at him, mouths falling open in horror as he continues to stand, entirely unscathed, in the fires from the deepest pits of hell. </p>
<p>He knows he shouldn’t, he really does. But Crowley can’t resist a small lurch forward, breathing the fire out towards the angels who scatter away from him. He smiles a smile that looks menacing when on Aziraphale’s kind face, but it feels right in the moment and that’s all that matters.</p>
<p>“Now, Gabriel.” He begins, the soft lilt of Aziraphale’s voice not conveying the same level of conviction that he feels. He tries to sound more stern. “I think this proves that you’re hardly a threat to me.” He takes a step closer to the edge of the fire, but doesn’t step completely out of it. The fire swirls with him, as if it’s following him, it spurs him on further. “At most, I find you to be a simple inconvenience.”</p>
<p>“What is he?” Michael asks, her mouth forming a concerned frown.</p>
<p>Gabe only manages a befuddled, terrified shake of the head.</p>
<p>“So, here’s how it’s going to go.” It’s less Aziraphale and more Crowley at this point, his anger for the way they’d been treating Aziraphale taking the reigns. He takes a deep breath in through his nose. “You’re going to leave me be, understand? No more memos, no more strongly worded letters, no more belittling.”</p>
<p>“I—” Gabe begins, only to be cut off by Crowley.</p>
<p>“Do you understand?” His glare is entirely Crowley at this point, too malicious to be softened by Aziraphale’s gentle features. It was the kind of glare Crowley used to make the mortals keep their distance. It seemed to be working on the angels, too. “Or do we need to have another demonstration of what can happen to you if you argue with me?”</p>
<p>“Go,” Gabe sounds as defeated as Crowley wants him to feel.</p>
<p>They stare at each other for a long, lingering moment, Crowley daring Gabe to cross him with just his gaze. He’d love Gabe to provoke him, to give him a reason to use the fire against him. </p>
<p>In the end, Gabe doesn’t do anything and Crowley walks out of heaven through the front doors.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, when the sun rises over the horizon, painting the sky an array of soft yellows and oranges, it really is on the first of many, many new days to come.</p>
<p>Crowley watches it from the roof of his apartment building.</p>
<p>Strictly speaking, he doesn’t <em>need</em> to sleep. But after the events of the last forty-eight hours, he’d strongly considered dropping into another century long nap just to put some distance between him and everything that had happened. But Aziraphale had asked him kindly not to, insisting that he wasn’t ready to be parted with Crowley for that long, not after everything. So Crowley had agreed, and they had gone their separate ways after dinner at the Ritz with a promise to meet again soon.</p>
<p>The distance did nothing for Crowley’s nerves.</p>
<p>After being rejected, having the bookshop burn down and then the forces of hell dragging Aziraphale away, Crowley wasn’t particularly keen on them being separated. He couldn’t shake the low level of worry that settled into his gut, even though he knew that Aziraphale would be fine. They’d both told heaven and hell in no uncertain terms to leave them be. It wasn’t a permanent solution, he figured, but it would get them through the next few decades, at least. And right now, that was enough comfort for him. It was certainly more than he’d ever assumed he’d be able to get.</p>
<p>His hands are braced on the edge of the wall surrounding the roof, his sunglasses discarded nearby. The morning air is cooler as it kisses his exposed skin and he closes his eyes against the feelings of it. </p>
<p>Somehow— he still couldn’t quite believe it— they’d come out of this victorious. The two of them against everything and they’d managed to pull out the other side in one piece. It was the kind of luck Crowley had never been afforded before in his life. </p>
<p>The door to his roof creaked open and he instinctively reached for his sunglasses, ready to slide them back on. Before he grabs them, though, he recognizes the familiar feeling washing over him and settles back into his previously held position. It’s a comfort, feeling Aziraphale in the same space as him.</p>
<p>“Morning, angel.” He greets as Aziraphale moves to stand next to him, arms folded behind his back like usual.</p>
<p>“Another morning.” Aziraphale beams, glancing over at him. “A morning we weren’t supposed to have. And yet, here we are.”</p>
<p>“Here we are,” Crowley agrees with an inclination of his head.</p>
<p>The unspoken words hang in the balance between the two of them, but it’s honestly something Crowley is used to feeling. After spending six-thousand years in love with his counterpart, he was used to the air feeling thick with his love, wrapping around the two of them and holding them closer together. He was, in fact, an expert at dodging the subject, no matter who brought it up.</p>
<p>It was, of course, different this time, having already confessed his feelings out loud once. But as far as he was concerned, Aziraphale had neatly rejected him and there wasn’t any more to be said on the situation. At least, there wasn’t any more for <em>him</em> to say on the situation. If it were to be brought up, Aziraphale would be the one who had to do it. And Crowley was utterly certain that Aziraphale was not about to do that.</p>
<p>But then again, he’d been wrong before.</p>
<p>“Crowley, dear boy.” Aziraphale begins after the silence has hung between them for too long. “I do believe I owe you an apology.”</p>
<p>“If it’s all the same to you, angel, I’d rather just forget about the past two days.” Crowley doesn’t turn to look at Aziraphale, his gaze unfocused off in the distance as the sun continues to rise. </p>
<p>In the end, he supposes he should be grateful. He gets to live the next decades free of hell’s rules, free to act as he pleases and do what he sees fit. It’s something he’s always wanted. The other thing he’s always wanted is standing next to him, blue gaze fixed with determination on the side of his face. He won’t have Aziraphale in the capacity he’s always wanted, but the fact that Aziraphale is here at all says that he’ll at least still have the angel in his life to some extent. He figures he can live with that. Maybe even learn to like it.</p>
<p>And whatever newfound distance stretches between them, well, Crowley can use that to help nurse his broken heart. </p>
<p>For a spontaneous plan to turn on their respective head offices and abort the end of the world, things really could’ve gone worse than they did.</p>
<p>“And if it isn’t all the same to me?” Aziraphale presses.</p>
<p>It startles Crowley, who finally glances sideways at Aziraphale. There’s an edge to his gaze that Crowley doesn’t quite recognize and it gives him pause where he stands. “ <span class="pwa-mark decorator">s’nothin</span> to apologize for.”</p>
<p>“Oh, my dear boy, there is.” Aziraphale fixes him with his sternest gaze.</p>
<p>With a sigh, Crowley flips around, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. He gives Aziraphale a swoop of one hand without uncrossing his arms as an indication to go on. </p>
<p>Truth be told, he has utterly no idea what he expects Aziraphale to say. He could throw out a few guesses that would be based on his years in proximity to Aziraphale and the catalogue of knowledge he’d collected on the angel, but they would be just that— guesses. Contextually, he didn’t have any idea what it was Aziraphale wanted to talk about or apologize for. He hadn’t done anything worthy of apology in the last few days and with everything that happened, anything from earlier than that was completely lost to Crowley’s mind; he likely wouldn’t even remember the instance.</p>
<p>There’s a moment where Crowley watches Aziraphale take in a breath to ready his resolve and he feels that same familiar wave of love for his brave angel, the one always ready and willing to face things head on if he can. “Well, I’d like to apologize for the bandstand the other day.”</p>
<p>The world grinds to a halt around Crowley, time stopping in its tracks, holding its breath as it waits for something to happen.</p>
<p>Crowley’s mind screeches to a halt, too, and he’s left gaping at Aziraphale and struggling to find a series of words that he can string together into a sentence that’s even a little bit coherent. “That’s— Angel that was <em>me— I </em>should be—”</p>
<p>Aziraphale silences his stumbling with a gentle hand on is arm. Crowley stares down at it, the point of contact feeling hotter than hell’s fire had. “I should apologize to you, Crowley, for not making it clear then how I feel. You were so brave to tell me, despite how I was acting and I— I pushed you away.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well,” Crowley grumbles, staring determinedly at Aziraphale’s hand and refusing to meet his gaze, no matter how strongly he can feel it. “Can’t control how you feel, angel. No hard feelings, all that.”</p>
<p>“No my dear boy, that’s just it!” The hand on his arm turns into a squeeze and it’s enough force to finally force Crowley to glance up. Aziraphale looks stricken, his mouth twisted into a disappointed frown as he tries to figure out how to say whatever is on his mind. Crowley can practically <em>see</em> the wheels turning in his head before he sighs and dives on in, figuring it out as he goes. “How I reacted then, that’s— that’s not how I feel. I know over the years I’ve pushed you away so many times, and that is a separate apology that I owe you, another time, but I do hope you know that I’ve never wanted to. I’ve done it to keep you safe, to keep our secret, because I felt like I <em>had</em> to, but never because I wanted to.”</p>
<p>Crowley stares at him, his jaw slightly slack as he listens.</p>
<p>“I— oh, I’m not very good at this, I’m afraid. I’d prefer to have much more tact than this, but I suppose that’s out of my hands.” Aziraphale sighs to himself. “What I’m trying to say is that I hope you didn’t mean it when you said you were sorry for— for falling—”</p>
<p>“In love with you?” Crowley supplies, surprised beyond belief that his voice is working at all. “I didn’t mean it. I could never be sorry for that.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale lets out an audible breath, a smile breaking out across his face. Suddenly he’s beaming brighter than the early morning sun, lighting up the entire city with his happiness— lighting up Crowley’s entire <em>world</em>. “That’s wonderful news!”</p>
<p>“It is?” Crowley adjusts so he’s propping his hip into the wall, turning to face Aziraphale more directly. He’s careful not to dislodge Aziraphale’s hand as he moves. “You’ve lost me here, angel.”</p>
<p>Crowley isn’t sure what he expects Aziraphale to say, but he does expect Aziraphale to <em>say</em> something. So he’s entirely surprised when the only response he gets is Aziraphale pulling him closer by the arm, catching him by the shoulders as he stumbles and then pulling him down into a searing kiss with no preamble. He can feel Aizraphale’s hand move so it’s positioned along his jaw, thumb gentle on his cheek bone. He can feel all the broken shards of his heart mending back together at the feeling of Aziraphale’s lips on his, the gentle way Aziraphale cradles him, like he’s something precious that’s meant to be treasured.</p>
<p>It’s a short kiss, and Aziraphale looks hesitant as he pulls back enough to scan Crowley’s expression for his reaction.</p>
<p>“I’m still confused.” Crowley manages to mumble. “But you’re welcome to do that anytime.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale huffs out a laugh, his thumb stroking affectionately along Crowley’s cheek. His smile is back, but it’s smaller this time, more intimate. “I suppose I haven’t done a good job of explaining myself.”</p>
<p>“Not really, no.” Crowley agrees mildly, his own hands braced on Aziraphale’s hips and making no attempts to move anywhere else.</p>
<p>“At the bandstand, you told me that you loved me. I should’ve told you then that I love you, too, darling. I’ve loved you for some time. But I was so worried about protecting you from heaven if they knew you were involved in my attempts to stop the war.” Aziraphale glances down, his expression raw. “I wanted so badly to run off with you, but I couldn’t— I couldn’t leave the Earth behind. You understand, don’t you? This world here? It’s our love story. It’s where we met, where we fell in love. I couldn’t let that disappear.”</p>
<p>Demons don’t cry. But if they did, Crowley reckoned he’d be a mess right about now. “Angel, you should’ve just told me.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I should have.” Aziraphale agrees. “And if things hadn’t worked out, I would’ve spent eternity regretting the fact that I didn’t.”</p>
<p>They look at each other for a long moment, still holding onto each other like it’s the only thing that matters. For Crowley, it<em> is</em> the only thing that matters. All the heartbreak, the rejection, the scares he’d gone through in the last few days wither and shrink until they don’t exist anymore. None of them matter because Aziraphale loves him back. He’d said it, out loud, with his own words. </p>
<p>The world isn’t over and Aziraphale loves him back.</p>
<p>Crowley takes a moment to throw a silent thank you up to God. Maybe she does listen to him occasionally. Or maybe this is the only thing she’ll ever grant him, the only wish she’ll ever hear. If that’s the case, he’s perfectly content to never ask her for another thing again for as long as he lives.</p>
<p>“The world didn’t end.” Crowley says because someone needs to say something and it seems important. It doesn’t articulate exactly what he’s going for but Aziraphale has spent six-thousand years meeting him in the middle and making sense of his broken pieces, so he’s not surprised when Aziraphale understands the hidden depth to his words anyways. “We don’t have sides anymore.”</p>
<p>“We have <em>our </em>side.” Aziraphale murmurs fondly. “The only side that’s ever mattered.”</p>
<p>Maybe there’s something Crowley should say in response to that, but he doesn’t care. He’d gone from thinking he was going to spend eternity with a bunch of loose pieces and broken ends to finding out that he was being handed his dream scenario. And if it really goes according to his dream scenario, he’s going to have a long, long time to figure out whatever words he was supposed to say here.</p>
<p>He’s also going to have many chances to kiss Aziraphale. But those, he figures, he should get a start on early, just to be safe. So he leans down and kisses Aziraphale again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Also, just to clarify, the part in the switcheroo scene where Crowley wonders if Aziraphale knows how awesome it is to feel that confident all the time is just meant to show how Crowley views Aziraphale. I know he's not that confident and he'd be a trembling mess in front of Gabe and the other angels. But Crowley thinks of him as strong and collected, so it's just meant to reflect that.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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